


goddamn, you look holy

by skvadern



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Body Worship, Future Fic, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Nipple Play, Praise, just. real gay shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/pseuds/skvadern
Summary: “Actually,” he replies, leaning in to ghost the words over the shell of Zolf’s ear, “I think I better keep pressing my suit. Just to be certain.”Zolf keeps saying foolish things. It's practically Oscar's duty to shut him up.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57





	goddamn, you look holy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vogelwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogelwrites/gifts).



> my friend, i said, i know u have had a bad day so pls tell me soemthing u want me to write for u. it will be a drabble. it will be 100 words. i am absoutely capable of shutting up.   
> hahahaha  
> anyway i hope this improves ur day a lil bit my love <3  
> title from you in january by the wonder years

Oscar comes awake slowly, dawn light filtering pale across one cheek. He groans in offence, turning over and burrowing into the nearest thing to block out the light. It’s hot against his winter-chilled cheek, softly furred and broad enough to protect him from any unwanted daylight.

“You’re so warm,” he mutters into Zolf’s chest, lips brushing against his tickling chest hair.

A huff of breath, shaking his whole world. “Glad I’m good for something,” Zolf rumbles.

Oscar pulls his head out of his sanctuary, staring coolly up at Zolf’s dear face. He’s got a pillow crease pressed into one weathered cheek. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Good for _something?_ ” he echoes, narrowing his eyes when Zolf shifts a little, beginning to curl into himself.

“You know what I mean,” he mutters, and Oscar’s eyes narrow further.

“Believe me, my darling, you’re good for plenty,” he replies tartly, planting a hand on Zolf’s chest. Wonderfully strong and powerful as he is, his cleric doesn’t resist, and it doesn’t take much to push him onto his back. Oscar shakes his heavy limbs awake and follows him down, crowding over his dear body. He wastes a moment to click his fingers and prestidigitate both their mouths clean and fresh, before brushing the softest kiss he can across Zolf’s lips. He keeps it gentle, lingering, and when he pulls away Zolf chases him just slightly, a flush starting to bloom over his cheeks.

“Point made,” Zolf sighs, those gorgeous bright eyes gone a little clouded, and Oscar smirks.

“Actually,” he replies, leaning in to ghost the words over the shell of Zolf’s ear, “I think I better keep pressing my suit. Just to be certain.” He finishes up with a kiss pressed to the impossibly soft skin just under Zolf’s earlobe, the scent of Zolf’s hair product heavy and deliciously masculine.

Zolf takes a breath, like he’s about to say something, but then Oscar nips at his neck and the air leaves him in a huff. One hand, unreasonably large and thick-fingered, winds itself in Oscar’s hair, and he shivers happily as Zolf’s nails, grown a little longer these days, catch on his scalp.

He trails his lips down Zolf’s neck at a leisurely pace, lingering at the pulse-point, at the hollow of his throat. Then he skips along one broad shoulder, testing his teeth on the thick, relaxed muscles curling around his lover’s bones, interspersing with sucking kisses. Dwarven skin may be thick, but Oscar is _hungry_ ; swellingly, suddenly hungry for the gorgeous being splayed out under him,

“Do you know?” he pauses to ask, breathing the words across spit-slick skin and smiling delightedly when Zolf shivers a little. “How ridiculously, painfully, stupidly _handsome_ you are?”

Zolf glares up at him – at least, until Oscar dips his head, keeping eye contact, and mouths gently at the old lighthouse tattoo where its edges bleed into his skin. Then his eyes flutter closed, and he lets his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. His hand tightens convulsively in Oscar’s hair, and Oscar sighs happily.

“You’ve told me enough times,” he manages, as Oscar kisses down his maddeningly broad chest, taking a moment to rub his cheek in Zolf’s thicket of chest hair, revelling in the give of fat, the solidity beneath.

“Evidently,” Oscar murmurs, shifting slightly until one of Zolf’s pink nipples, just starting to harden, is below his lips, “not enough.” He forestalls any response by dipping his head again and closing his mouth around it.

Zolf’s chest is soft, gently peaked, perfect to nuzzle into. Oscar sucks the whole velvety bud into his mouth. It’s wonderfully warm, hardening even as he laves his tongue over it, the texture obscenely pleasing. He lets his teeth close on it, just a little, just to make Zolf gasp. Biting harder, well, that’s just to see if Zolf will make a louder noise, and he’s rewarded with the most beautiful whimper, slipping out between Zolf’s teeth. A secret only he gets to hear.

Oscar soothes the bite with a filthy open-mouthed kiss before he pulls off, suddenly desperate to _tell_ Zolf, to finally get his words through that beloved, thick skull. “You are, without doubt, the most beautiful being I have ever met, inside and out. I consider the fact that you willingly climb into bed with me every night, and are there when I wake up every morning, to be one of my greatest achievements.”

He cuts Zolf’s reply off ruthlessly, cupping the other side of his chest and grinding his nipple between thumb and forefinger. Zolf’s back arches, mouth falling open.

“In other words, Zolf Smith,” Oscar continues over his lover’s groan, “I love you.”

This time, when Zolf looks up at him, face soft and clouded and a little lost-looking, Oscar’s sure he’s listening. Perhaps, miracle of miracles, even believing. He can’t resist leaning in and kissing those sweet, slackened lips, nuzzling into his beard – loose and brushed out, now that they have all the time in the world to plait it again each morning. Every sense is teeming with Zolf, the smell of his beard wax and his plain soap and his body, the taste of him, those maddening little gasps. It’s bliss.

“Glorious,” he whispers, “utterly perfect.” Then, before Zolf gets his wits back to reply, he sets about the delightful task of rendering him utterly speechless.


End file.
